


Kindred Spirits

by Rocky_T



Series: Kindred Spirits [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocky_T/pseuds/Rocky_T
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to "Interlude", Part 2 of the "Kindred Spirits" series</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindred Spirits

It's another one of those interminable Starfleet social evenings--this time, a cocktail reception followed by dreary speeches. Usually Picard manages to escape these events altogether, as he spends most of his time in deep space. But with the Enterprise-E in dry-dock, undergoing a major refit, he is condemned to days at HQ with various admirals, and nights rubbing elbows with the same.

Picard glances at his chrono once again. It's at least another hour until he can decently leave. He stands with a fixed smile on his face, nodding politely when spoken to. He realizes his glass is empty and heads over to the bar to remedy matters. Synthale in hand, he retreats quietly into a corner, realizing belatedly that it's already occupied.

She speaks first. "Captain Picard, how nice to see you."

He takes her proffered hand, feels the firmness of her grip, "Captain Janeway, the honor is all mine."

"Kathryn."

"Jean-Luc."

She surveys the crowd, an odd smile on her face. "I'd almost forgotten what these receptions are like."

"Surrounded by admirals, making inane chitchat about the latest missions?"

She nods. "Not to mention, answering the same questions over and over."

"I take it you did not miss Starfleet's 'social circuit' while you were in the Delta Quadrant," he says dryly.

"Not at all." A faint shadow crosses her features for a moment, and he wonders what she did miss, whether she has found it since her return.

He sips his drink, noticing for the first time she is holding a full glass of her own, something pale blue and frothy and clearly untouched; he sees no lipstick smudge on the rim. "How is it, being back after all these years?"

"Do you really want to know?" she says sharply, then bites her lip. "I'm sorry. It's just--"

"You've heard that question too many times," he guesses.

"Yes. Exactly." She holds the glass up to light, watching the liquid swirl, then puts it down with a faint look of distaste. "But no one is really interested in hearing my answer."

He understands; although her situation was extreme--Voyager was flung to the far reaches of the galaxy--he is familiar with the isolation of space, the distance which can't be measured by light years alone. "Unless a person has been in your position, it's difficult to comprehend what it was like for you and your crew." At her quick nod, he says, "So, how does it feel being back?"

She stares at him for a few seconds, and then smiles. "It's strange. So much has changed, and yet--" she gestures at the crowd "--so little."

"I suspect the real change is in ourselves," he observes. 

"Indeed. And not just the added notoriety," she says with a wry smile.

He knows all too well what she means. "They cast you as either savior or scapegoat." He is not talking about the media, but those who should know better. "Never just an ordinary captain, simply doing his or her job." 

Janeway remains silent. He studies her surreptitiously, the set of her jaw, the proud tilt to her chin. Before tonight, their paths had never crossed; he can only guess what she once was like, the soft prettiness of youth she must have owned. She is a handsome woman still, but the habit of command sits easily upon her now, worn like a second skin. There is no trace of softness in her any longer; it's been scoured away by the merciless years. Only about her eyes is there a hint of anything more.

"It's not just the Review Boards and official inquiries, you know," she says suddenly. "It's events like this, when your life-and-death struggles become fodder for the cocktail circuit, with career desk jockeys getting a vicarious thrill hearing about the details of battles and crises they can barely imagine, let alone survive."

The bitterness in her tone does not surprise him. "The second-guessing, the blank looks when you patiently try to explain, yet again, why you did what you had to do. And then you still have to endure the thinly veiled accusations."

Janeway grimaces, pitches her voice higher. "'How did it feel, Captain Janeway, having your ship overrun by hostile aliens? Couldn't you have prevented it? What was it like, ordering a self-destruct? Wasn't that a little extreme? What about the Prime Directive? Why did you do X, when you should have done Y?'" She closes her eyes and sighs. "It's always the same things they want to rehash--the Caretaker, the Hirogen, Species 8472..."

The Cardassians, Picard adds silently. The Ferengi, the Klingon succession, the Son'a, and always, always...

"I am sick to death of the Borg!" they say in unison.

Startled, they exchange glances, and then she breaks into a laugh--deep, rich, full of life. And he thinks to himself he would like to hear it again.

~*~

He spots her immediately at Admiral Kroyak's reception three nights later. Janeway smiles and waves at him from across the room, then watches as he threads his way toward her through the crowd.

She politely disengages herself from a small group of people as he approaches. "We've got to stop meeting like this, you know," she says in a low voice.

He laughs, wondering if she's familiar with Dixon Hill. "Do you think they suspect anything?"

Her eyebrow arches in amusement. "'They?' What could 'they' possibly suspect about us?"

"Just how incredibly bored we are." 

"You've only just arrived," she points out. "You haven't been here long enough to find out just how deadly it really is."

"I'm a quick study," Picard replies and leans in closer, inhaling the scent of her perfume. "What do you say we make our escape, find somewhere a bit more congenial?"

"I like the way you think, Captain," she says.

A short time later, they are the only patrons in a small, dimly lit cafe. The waiter takes their orders, and returns almost immediately. Janeway shakes her head slightly at his cup of Earl Grey and then inhales the steam rising off her Colombian blend before taking a deep drink. He smiles at her expression of near-bliss.

"You have no idea how much I missed freshly brewed coffee," she says with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

He smiles, and they make small talk about the things they have seen in their years among the stars. Far from the official trappings of Starfleet, she relaxes. He feels some of the tension easing from his shoulders as well.

He is startled to hear of her dealings with Q. She laughs at the look on his face. "Did you think you were the only captain to capture his attention?"

"I suppose, logically, he would drop in on others," Picard says, remembering hearing a report of Q--and Vash--appearing on Deep Space Nine, years ago, while Benjamin Sisko was still in command. "He does appear fascinated by humanity. But you seem to have engaged his interest to a far greater degree than I ever did."

Her eyes dance above the rim of her cup. "Jealous, Jean-Luc?"

"Don't be absurd," he says, almost a bit too quickly. He allows himself to smile. "Although I will admit, Q never attempted to seduce me."

"Not in quite the same manner, I'll grant you," she says thoughtfully. The momentary hint of seriousness is gone when she adds, "You, however, probably wouldn't have turned him down."

"You think so?"

"An omnipotent being offers himself to you--"

"--with an ulterior motive," he interjects

"--which was not apparent at the time." She tilts her head to one side, considering. "Not many would say no." 

His hand brushes hers on the table. "And yet, you did," he says softly.

She does not move away. Instead, her fingers curl around his. "Perhaps I'm a little more discerning in my choice of partners."

~*~

The streets are wrapped in thick, nearly impenetrable fog. The ancient question, 'my place or yours', has been rendered largely moot by the discovery they both have quarters in the large Starfleet complex nearby. She takes his arm as he ushers her inside his door. The ends of her hair curl from the dampness, but the lips pressed against his are warm and dry.

She sheds her clothes without words, without embarrassment. Picard runs his hands over her lean body, the taut muscles conveying a surprising strength. They move together easily, rhythmically, their limbs entwined. With a quick thrust, however, their positions are reversed. She presses him down upon the bed. Her face is rapt with concentration as she strives to reach her climax. He enjoys the sight of her head thrown back; he strains to kiss her exposed neck, feels her tremble and then shudder against him. 

His breathing sounds harsh even to his own ears. She lies quietly; the dark red hair spread across the pillow makes him start involuntarily. She opens her eyes and gazes deeply into his before turning away on her side.

"It's been a long time," Janeway says, almost shyly.

"There are some things you never forget how to do." He immediately regrets his flippancy as she goes on to speak of her former fiancé, left behind years ago for what was to have been a simple three-week mission.

He shifts so he can see her face clearly. He can guess the answer, but asks anyway. "What happened?"

"He moved on, shortly after the ship was declared lost." She sounds oddly emotionless. "Not that I blame him."

He can't fault the man, either, and yet Picard feels a wave of regret there was no Penelope waiting faithfully at the end of Janeway's odyssey. She deserved that much at least. "So you came back home to discover--"

"No," she says quickly. "I found out during the fourth year of our journey. One of the earliest communications we had with the Alpha Quadrant." She smiles, a bit wanly. "Perhaps he thought it was kinder this way."

Picard is silent for a moment, considering her words. "It did free you for other possibilities."

She chuckles mirthlessly. "Possibilities? In our situation?"

Picard opens his mouth to object, remembering hearing about several 'Voyager couples.' The chief engineer and Admiral Paris' son, the first officer and the young woman who had been rescued from the Borg, a number of 'Lower Deckers.' The truth slowly dawns on him. "As captain you didn't feel you could--"

She sits up abruptly. "Would you?"

"No." He pushes back memories of Neela Daren, the decision he'd made after ordering her into danger--and of Beverly, the road not taken. "No, I suppose not." 

~*~

In the morning, he makes breakfast. Janeway toys with a croissant, but downs two cups of coffee. He shakes his head in amusement. The conversation is light; the intensity of the night before has been left behind in the darkness.

"There is another Starfleet function next Saturday," Picard says casually. 

"Yes, a formal ball, under the auspices of the diplomatic corps," she says. "In honor of the Canolian ambassador."

He looks at her in surprise. "You're very well informed." At her shrug, he says teasingly, "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were making a career of attending these things."

Janeway doesn't smile. "Actually, it _is_ part of my new job description." She pauses. "I've been promoted to Admiral--department of Fleet Operations."

"Kathryn..." His mouth is suddenly dry. "I'm not surprised they offered it--you certainly deserve some recognition for your accomplishments--but do you think you'd be hap--"

She holds up one hand. "I know what you're going to say. And you're right. One needs to look no further than the example of Admiral Kirk. He regretted giving up his command till the day he died."

"Yes, he did," Picard says, remembering. He takes her hand. "I've been in the same position you're in now. Don't take it. Tell them no."

She smiles sadly. "You're presuming I've got a choice. No, Jean-Luc, it's a done deal."

"You don't have to take it," he insists.

"I do if I want to stay in Starfleet."

Any further objections die on his lips. Left unspoken are the words, "no where else to go." He cannot envision a life outside of Starfleet, and he knows, neither can she.

~*~

Before she leaves, she jots down her comm number for him. "Perhaps next time," she says, smoothing the collar of his silk robe, "we can skip the reception and go straight to other more 'desirable' pursuits."

"Perhaps." His arms tighten around her. "You're assuming we have other things in common besides Starfleet."

She smiles and kisses him. It's only after she has left that he realizes she never answered him. But then again, she doesn't really need to.


End file.
